Beauty underneath
by Countess Hargreaves
Summary: Naruto has just started a new High School after some terrible incidents. He expected to be behind with all his classes and with finding new friends. What he didn't expect was to find him. "Him"-the guy he always wanted to be with. But, then, homicides begin happening with all the clues leading to Naruto and his very colorful past... Gaa/Naru yaoi!, AU! Warning:mentions heavy abuse
1. Chapter 1

Hey folks! So here it is - my first Gaara/Naruto story! And my first story ever written in english...

Thanks so much to Maurelle who has become my betareader - i know this must be a lot of work! I would appraciate reviews greatly, after all I want to improve with my writting and language skills!

Ok - so now, on with the story and I hope you'll enjoy it!

* * *

Prologue

It was raining – again. He can't stand the rain; never could. It's depressing. He slowly walked out of the big building. It was June 1st - it should be hot outside. But there were only thick grey clouds covering the sky. He shivered, it was chilly. It had been a while since he had been outside without playing sports. They weren't allowed in the open air to often – it would be to much trouble for the guards to watch them.

The bus was waiting at the wrought-iron gate- it would take them back to the real world. He still couldn't believe his time was over. He has been waiting for this moment, a whole 9 months, since the court sentenced him to be here: the Danzos Home, a juvenile facility for young boys.

At the time of his leaving, the facility held 734 youthful offenders all housed in five separated units. From the outside, the Home resembled what those who ran it wanted it to resemble: some kind of nice school or university. It was a massive, time-honored block of brick buildings with a cast-iron sign in front of the main door displaying the name of the founder. Trees lined the street leading from the gate to the main entrance causing it to resemble to an antique film set. If it weren't for the large electrified fences everywhere, one could succumb to the illusion that this wasn't a prison at all, but rather an ancient mansion.

Yes, all in all it just looked like a nice, old boarding school for the upper class.

He knew it was none of those things. To be honest, it was closer to hell. It was not a group of innocent young boys at this facility. Most of the inmates, if not all, belonged there. Some of them were riding out their second or third sentences, and all of them were violent offenders. Just like he was. Very few seemed sorry about what they had done. And as for rehabilitation? Don't even joke about it. Most of the boys knew perfectly well where the road was leading. And they didn't seem to care.

He didn't look back as he approached the bus with the other boys. He didn't look back when the bus turned and left the grounds of the facility. And he sure as hell didn't look back when the building of his nightmares was nearly out of sight.

It took them about two hours and a half to reach their destination. He didn't do anything other than stare at the back of the ugly seat before him. He clutched his release papers in his right hand; not even noticing when his fingernails pierced the skin of his palm after going right through the thin paper.

When he got off the bus, he spotted him instantly. He was waiting for him- always was. When he noticed him, he waved furiously, a big smile plastered on his face. The boy didn't smile back, he didn't have it in him. The guard who watched them on the drive ushered them out of the bus. There weren't many adults to collect the boys, and the ones who came didn't seem happy at all. Many parents or guardians simply tried to forget their sons were to come home again. They didn't want to deal with them.

By the time he reached the older one, he was brought into a breathtaking, bone-braking hug. He didn't respond like he would have 9 months ago. "What is it, kid? You aren't happy to see me?" He shrugged, but didn't talk. The man didn't press further. He didn't know what had happened, but, even he, believed it wouldn't be that easy. They couldn't pick up where they left off. After all, the little one had been in prison for 9 months. Anyone would change. He just hadn't expected it to be so obvious.

Their trip home was a quiet affair. Neither spoke. When they reached their apartment, he nearly choked at the sight. There were about thirty notes pinned to their apartment door. His father reacted fast and nearly covered them with his imposing figure, but he read some of them anyway. "Murderer! Should've stayed where you were", "We don't need fags nor killers here", "Scum".

"Sorry, kiddo. I removed them this morning, but..." The boy shook his head.

"I guess they are faster than you are, old man." His father gave a goofy smile and scratched the back of his head awkwardly, but couldn't think of anything to say.

He knew it was foolish of him to think it would go away if he ignored it. Nevertheless, he tried- he tried indeed. He ignored the insults directed at him every time he stepped out of the apartment, he pretended not to see the hating glares boring into the back of his head as soon as he stepped foot upon the street, and he dodged the little stones and old fruit which were thrown at him. And he sincerely hoped it would get better.

* * *

It didn't get better – if it did anything it got much worse.

Two weeks after school started, he thought that it would almost have been easier for him to just stay where he has been. Almost, mind you. He started skipping classes so he could get away from the stares and whispers; which wouldn't quiet even after the teacher entered the room. His belongings kept disappearing from his school bag, his locker had been broken into more than once, and ugly scribbling could be found all over his locker door.

Then the chasing and beatings began. Other students would corner him whenever they found him, kick him, slap him, hit him, and no one would even attempt to stop the perpetrators. After school, he tried to hide in the old bathrooms in the gym. But they would always find him.

His father tried reasoning with the parents of his tormentors, but they didn't listen. They just shunned his father like they did him.

It was then, a plan slowly began to form in his mind. He couldn't go on- not like this anyway. He needed to do something. His father was having trouble with the neighbors too, he knew. They avoided him because he took the boy in again. It would have been easier if he had just sent him away. But, he knew, his father wouldn't do something like that. He would never ever abandon him.

He planned everything very carefully. He knew when his father was going to be away, so he would be alone in the apartment. Two days before, he bought himself some pain killers. He couldn't get much at one drugstore, so he wandered to three different ones just in case anyone would ask questions. Nobody noticed anything. Then, he went searching for his father's alcohol stash. It took him about three hours before he found it – after all, it was strange that one would hide away their alcohol supply in the cupboard under one's underwear. But he did find it.

His plan was perfect. The old man won't come back until tomorrow-always gone for the day when "researching". He took a great amount of the pain relievers, nearly all of the three packages, and drowned them with the alcohol. It was even more disgusting than he imagined. Then, he waited for about an hour. When he got up from his bed he was drowsy and swayed a little on his way to the bathroom. It took him about ten minutes, or so he thought- he couldn't be too sure in his hazed state.

He didn't bother to undress when he lowered himself in the tub. At least, he had been thinking far enough ahead as to fill it before he took the pills. The hot water nearly spilled over, but he couldn't care less. The carpet cutter nearly fell out of his hand it was shaking so hard. If he was honest with himself, he would recognize the shaking as fear. But he didn't want to think at all. He had made up his mind, and he wasn't going to change it.

He slipped twice when trying to cut his wrist. Earlier, he had done some research and knew not to cut "across the street but along the road" as some might say- but, seriously, it was harder than he anticipated to find the artery. His sight was becoming blurred, he had to speed things up, or he would lose consciousness and then he would royally fuck this up. By the third time, he made a deep gash from the elbow to his wrist, and he watched in awe as his blood poured out of his arm. He wasn't sure if he had struck the artery, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He laid back down, and, thanks to the pain killers, he didn't feel more than a slight sting. He was strangely calm. Deep down, he knew something was wrong when he heard a door open and a voice calling his name, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care.

By the time the bathroom door burst open, the boy was so high he didn't even notice he wasn't alone any more.

"Hey kiddo... Shit – Naruto? What the hell are you doing, kid? What's going on? Answer me! Naruto? Naruto!" Naruto didn't hear the panic, but he recognised the voice somehow.

"Hey, old man... why are you back?", he murmured incoherently. After that, all went into a strange black blur.

* * *

It took him two days to wake up again. When he noticed the white walls and the strange aseptic scent, he knew something had gone terribly wrong. He should have been dead by now. But, somehow, he couldn't even manage that. Great.

His adoptive father sat by his bedside, fast asleep. He knew exactly how deep he was in trouble when he observed the brochures for asylums on his blanket. He had fucked up – again.


	2. The first step is always the hardest

Hey guys - sorry it's been so long, but I'm looking for a beta reader right now and can't find one... at first I didn't want to post a chapter which hasn't been looked over, 'cause english isn't my mothertonge, but I guess I just have to risk it. Please bear with me and don't be to strict...

Nevertheless, thanks for the reviews for the prologue! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter also.

* * *

_**Chapter 1 – The first step is always the hardest**_

One year and 3 months later.

_He was floating. Floating into nothingness. There wasn't any color, all was black. It was freezing, his teeth were chattering, but he couldn't hear anything. There was an absolute absence of sound. It was strange, but it wasn't frightening. He kept floating, it was peaceful. He decided he liked it, until..._

"Gaara!" an angry voice shouted. He nearly fell out of bed as somebody thundered against his bedroom door. "Get your lazy ass down here and start breakfast." Still sleepy he rubbed his eyes. The voice called again, sounding even more irate than before. Light was floating through the window opposite to his bed, the thick blue curtains weren't closed. Normally they would stay open, for he didn't bother to sleep. He never slept. To sleep meant horror, it meant nightmares. His insomnia was omnipresent, but strangely enough he did sleep the previous night. From time to time he lost the battle against his body.

The light on his bedside table was still on and the book which he was reading some hours before lay right beside his pillow. A yawn forced itself upon him, he aborted it.

He didn't even remember falling asleep, but it seemed as he had been sleeping at least three hours. Which would be three hours more than he normally got. Nevertheless he was still tired.

"Gaara!", the voice sounded furious and outright hateful by now. "Coming..."; the boy murmured.

It didn't take him long to make himself ready, although with his right hand being in a cast getting dressed was an interesting affair, and to start breakfast as his father ordered. He ate very little and he felt the dark eyes of his father boring into his head. Like any other day Gaara ignored him, his face a ever stoic mask, showing nothing, knowing quite well it would irritate the other even more. He was playing a dangerous game, he knew. There was only so much his father was going to take from him.

"Get going.", the man growled and Gaara almost flinched at the harsh sound, startled. But his face was as indifferent as it always was when he did as he was told. Eventually it wouldn't do him any good to disobey the other and anger him even more.

Within five minutes he was out of the door. However, he wasn't fast enough, for his father had shoved him again into the door and the handle had made painful contact with his left tight.

It didn't really hurt, not like other times, but his stomach strongly disapproved of the manhandling this early in the morning accompanied with the food it was forced to digest. He made it to the trash bin just in time. His stomach seized and he emptied its contents violently behind the trash. The episode passed as quickly as it begun. He starred at the floor, tears clouding his eyes and the sour smell of vomit assaulting his nose. This has become a frightening habit of his.

"You know, you should be more careful. That's the second time this week, and it's only Tuesday now."

He choked again, but his stomach was empty now. "Go away Kira...", he whispered silently, but she heard him nonetheless. "As you wish. But..."

"Gaara!", this time, it was his sister. He tried to stand straight, but he could see the worry on her face already. Kira looked at the other girl approaching the boy. She smiled, and then disappeared into thin air. Temari didn't notice her, but then, she never has. It had taken some time, but in the end he realized, that no one could see Kira besides of him.

Temari was at his side even before he could try and get away from the trash bins. "You're even more pale than you normally are, little brother. Are you sick again? And what has happened to your arm!?", she asked, worry evident in her very actions. "I'm okay, just fell off the stairs.", he brushed her hand off, however she wouldn't let go of him. They both knew the story about falling down the stairs was a blatant lie, but neither of them said anything about it.

"What's this smell... you've thrown up yet again? You know, you should be more careful, eating in the morning...", he tuned her voice out. Sometimes he wondered if all girls were this bothersome, or just the two he happened two know. They seemed to be constantly worrying about him – although one of them wasn't even real. Or what ever she was.

"Temari. Why are you here?" She stopped in her chatting. "Dad.", she said. "He wanted to see me. Said something about me not being around since eastertime." She shrugged.

"Then you should go find him. Guess he's in the kitchen - that's where I last saw him."

Temari eyed him up critically. She knew something wasn't right, she always would notice. She was insightful, and he couldn't stand it. Somehow the girl would see right trough his facade of indifference and listlessness and with a squint of her dark green eyes she would bring him to reveal himself.

"I need to go to school anyway." She nodded in agreement. And he left her standing in front of the big family home with the extensive garden which seemed both somehow dull to him since he was living there alone with his father. He crossed his hands in front of his chest, his fingers clawed to the ends of the sleeves of his black pullover.

It was a sunny day and he enjoyed the walk to school. He liked nature, the feeling of absolute freedom surrounding him, and he embraced it greedily, although he knew it was just an illusion. Sometimes he wondered if this existence he led could be an illusion as well. That would clear some things up. Things like Kira, like his ability to go without any sleep for God knows how long and still wasn't being admitted to a nuthouse – although it would do him some good, seeing as he kept talking to his very own invisible... friend... or what ever she was.

"You in there, Gaara?", Kira asked, her face suddenly only inches in front of his. She would do that occasionally, appearing out of nowhere and talking to him.

Her dark eyes were searching his face, for what he didn't know. He backed away. This was way to close for comfort. "You zoned out again.", she said, smiling slightly, flipping her long dark hair back. She was an ordinary girl, not really handsome, neither truly ugly. Her face was just a tiny bit to long, her eyes only a little bit to close to one another to be called pretty. But they were as dark as possible, and big, with long, full lashes, giving her an innocent air. Ever so often they would sparkle with laughter and mirth, making her face light up with some strange inner beauty.

But right now, her face masked her worry Worry for him. He got used to it. She would worry anyway.

He shrugged. Normally he avoided talking to Kira in public. There was always the risk of someone noticing, but this day he couldn't care less. "What do you want? I thought I told you to go away. And I thought you said you would do so." He glanced at her. She was smiling broadly by the time he finished.

"I will go. I'm not interested in your arts classes after all. But right now, I guess you'll need something to keep your mind occupied with. I know that look of yours – you were just trying to depress yourself again, weren't you?"

"You know me to damn well." He knew that his face didn't betrayed his feeling, it was the same stoic mask as ever. He learnt long ago not to wear his emotions on the sleeve. It would make things even more difficult than they were now. But somehow she would always know when he was spiraling into one of his darker moods.

"Maybe I do. Since I'm with you most of the time, I guess that's not too hard."

Gaara wasn't looking at her. He wouldn't tell her, that being with him wouldn't do the trick. She was very sensitive concerning his moods. But he guessed, being his very own imagination that would be expected, wouldn't it? She was the one he talked with the most. Or at all.

Normally, he didn't like people. They were loud, foul, greedy, brutal, nosey, had no idea of personal space and were way to numerous for his liking. Being in school, in class, was like torture for him. He was called anti-social by all of them, and he was perfectly fine with that. For as far as he noticed, the liked him even less then he liked them.

* * *

School was as boring as ever. He sat in the back of the classroom, as far away from the rest of the pupils as he could get. The sun lit the room up, making it less dull. It was a nice indian summer day. The leafs were already changing colours,but it was still warm enough to go without jackets.

"Class, today I would like to introduce you to our new student, Naruto Uzumaki. He has been transferred recently. Let's welcome him." This got Gaara's attention. Next to his teacher stood a boy, man, whatever, an unknown male person. He was tall, Gaara noticed first. Tall and very slender, with a shock of blonde hair on his head.

"You will sit next to Gaara, Gaara-kun, please raise your hand." He did as he had been told. The new one flashed him a bright, toothy smile. Gaara ignored him, just like he did with the rest. However, he observed him from the corner of his eyes. He looked kind of good, he decided. Attractive. His eyes shone a bright blue, like the sky on a midsummer's day. Although it was rather warm outside he wore a dark blue long sleeved shirt and tight black jeans which hung kind of low on his hips. What he could spot from the skin seemed to be nicely tanned. Yeah, this guy would be prey to Sakura and the other girls, maybe even for some of the boys. He was not to be envied. They could be trouble, even dangerous sometimes if they don't get what they want.

Luckily, they never truly tried to hunt him down, though there were some remarkable incidents. And fortunately he convinced them rather fast to let him be.

* * *

Art class proofed itself as dull as he thought it would be. They were told to do an still life of some apples, nothing too creative in his opinion. It seemed this school wouldn't be too different from the others he attended. The teacher who had taken him to his new class appeared to be okay, maybe a little bit shy and some what young for a high school teacher, but he was friendly.

The principal was a other story. The man knew as much as anyone could find out of his (rather large) files. He was wary, and Naruto was quite sure the man did all he could so that he wouldn't be allowed on this school. But it was a public school after all and so they had to take him in. Although Naruto had some strong suspicions that his father did point the law out to the principal.

Strangely enough the teacher – Iruka-sensei if he remembered correctly – didn't seem to know anything about him. He couldn't believe the guy would have been so nice if he _knew_. Nobody was. Nobody – except his adoptive father and his psychologist. And he suspected the latter only was because she was getting paid for being nice. Well, actually she was getting paid fr helping him, but that includes being nice somehow, doesn't it?

What ever. The kids in the class just seemed as ordinary as the school itself. There wasn't anything special, he thought, until... until he saw _him_. The guy in the last row, sitting as far away from the others as humanly possible.

He was breathtaking. First of all this vibrant red hair making him stick out of the mass, but the very moment the kid looked at him he nearly choked. The fascinating hair was forgotten the second he saw his eyes. They were the strangest colour he ever saw. Some kind of teal, reminding him of a picture he once saw of a stormy sea, but that wasn't even oddest thing. They were cold, and indifferent. They were lifeless and yet there was a silent sparkle in them to which he couldn't put a name on. And he stared at him, the bright eyes wouldn't leave his for a second. They wouldn't look away, those bright, bright eyes... He didn't notice the teacher introducing him and he nearly missed when he told him to sit next to this gorgeous creature with the bright, cold eyes.

When he went to the back row he noticed the guy was watching him. He flashed him a smile, the other one didn't react in any way. He examined the other, he was actually very cute. Apart from his scary eyes, that was. He wasn't too tall from what he could see, and very slim, almost scrawny, his right arm and wrist was in a cast. His hair fell into his eyes, and when they weren't directed at him, he reminding him of a lost puppy.

The moment the bell rang was a huge relieve – that class was even more boring than he anticipated.

"So, would you be so kind and show me how to get to room 306?", he asked the redhead, Gaara the teacher called him, next to him. The other only shrugged, seemingly having no interest to help him. But Naruto wasn't one to back away only because someone showed him the cold shoulder. He was persistent, always had been. And right now, he wanted to get to know the other – and no one was going to stop him.


End file.
